A Time to Build Up
by GoldenGrace
Summary: Given up on hope, Lourdes makes a rash decision as she tags along with Ben as he departs the 2nd Mass. However, for everything there is a season, and between alliances with skitter rebels, seeking out de-harnessed kids, and finding a kindred spirit in Ben, Lourdes begins to rediscover the hope she had abandoned as she finds her place in the world.
1. Tag Along

Disclaimer: I don't own "Falling Skies."

One: Tag Along

"You're up!" Anne exclaimed as she trudged back onto the med bus.

I nodded, giving her a weak smile as I finished taking rounds of the filled cots. There was no such thing having a day without injury or illness. It almost seemed like a numbers game. For every person that wound up on the med bus by noon, two more ended up in a cot for observation during the night.

"There're things to do," I sighed, tucking my hair behind my ear.

"Well, it's good to not just sit," Anne smiled, and I stared at her blankly.

Why was she smilingly? There was nothing left to smile about. People were dead, and if they weren't dead they were wounded or ill. Finally, there were the rest of us who comprised a mere blip on the radar of survivors that wandered around like fools fighting giants that we could never hope to overcome in the end. That was the crux of it; I knew. Whatever hope I had clung to so vigilantly this last year had all been snuffed out as I watched the _things_ crawl out of Jamil's mouth.

The Overlords using their Skitter slaves and metal Mechs had devastated the world with their bombs. Then they narrowed their conquest, aligning their strategy as they enslaved children and killed the rest of us. For so long, I had thought that if I prayed enough and thanked God for the rain that quenched our thirst or the measly cans of soup that fighters brought home after scavenging that God would fix this world somehow.

The more time passed, the less I prayed. Every bad day, every death, every memory of what had been began to outweigh all the good that I had tediously searched for, making mountains of molehills just to have a worthy prayer. I wanted to scoff at myself and my own stupidity. I had wasted so much time hoping and doing what I could that I had seemingly spun myself in a circle.

Only on this revolution, it was just me. There was no prayer, hope, or even God. It was lonely I'll admit, and I could feel the anger surge through me. I had never felt this kind of anger in my entire life. It both scared and exhilarated me.

I shrugged as Anne began visiting with one of the fighters, and I could still feel her concerned glances at my scowling. I ignored them though as I organized the tray of medicines, labeling them and tucking them away in the cabinet. It was the same as I had done yesterday, the day before that, and the day even before that. It was an endless task, and losing focusing, I began to stare out the window into the woods.

Our convoy was resting for a few hours on our way to Charleston. So then why was Ben Mason tromping through the falling snow with his entire backpack over his shoulder? Where was he going? Fighters left but not alone and not with their bags in tow. He only got just beyond the first trees when Tom appeared, standing with his gun over his shoulder as if he had been anticipating the moment. Ben stepped back out of surprise.

"He's leaving," I whispered, staring at them talk with Ben smirking uneasily and not quite meeting his father's eyes. Anne heard and came to the window.

"I had hoped he wouldn't," She shook her head sadly.

"I suppose he has to," I stated numbly, and Anne turned to me in surprise. Perhaps, I had even surprised myself. "He doesn't fit in here," I continued. "The ridicule and laughter at his expense—not to mention everyone thinks he killed Jimmy…

"He didn't kill…"

"I didn't say he did!" I yelled before Anne's words could even finish falling from her mouth. "You know it's true. It's better he leaves…at least _he's_ doing something, instead of driving off to Charleston on a wing and a prayer."

"Lourdes!" Anne exclaimed, looking at me like she had never seen me before.

"It's true! Maybe, people don't want to hear about a Skitter rebellion or kids with spikes on their backs, but they're here! Charleston isn't some safe haven with amusement parks and three square meals a day! It's just a stupid hope! The 2nd Mass is as well! Don't look so shocked! We've lost a half dozen people since the siege with Karen!"

I half-expected Anne to hit me by the fury that marred her eyes, but she didn't. She only looked at me with pity like I had just hobbled on the bus riddled with Mech bullets. She swallowed hard, and I pretended not to notice the tears budding in her eyes.

"You're wrong Lourdes," She said calmly, collecting herself. "You're just angry because of…"

"Because Jamil is dead?" I laughed maniacally. "Maybe, I am. So what? I am angry. You should be too. Jamil, your husband and Sammie, my parents—they're all dead! My uncle and aunt lived in a town with less than a thousand people, and they're even dead. Our survival is only temporary. It's dumb luck in the midst of a messed up world!"

"Lourdes sweetheart…" She reached for me. I didn't care if she wanted to hug me or strangle me. A part of me wished it was the latter option as I turned away at her touch.

I went to the cot at the back, reaching underneath for my bag that was always filled. All I had left was the jacket on the floor and the bible that fell out of it with a thud as I shoved the jacket on. Begrudgingly, I shoved the bible into my bag as well even though I wanted nothing more than to chunk it out the window. However, it was the only thing that I still had that was mine from before. My clothes, my shoes, the bag—all were things that were collected over time, petty thievery from abandoned shopping malls. The bible was my only reminder that this world I lived in had not always been so.

Once there had been hope. That was gone, and now the bible would serve as my reminder to not bother clinging to it anymore as we careened off the cliff one-by-one as the months passed.

"What are you doing?" Anne questioned as I stormed about, pulling my handgun from underneath my pillow and taking two water bottles from the supply.

I didn't meet her eyes as I spoke, "I'm leaving."

"What? Why?"

"Because I can."

"You have an obligation Lourdes to the 2nd Mass!"

"An obligation?" I spat. "Maybe, you do Anne, but I never signed a piece of paper!"

"Lourdes, think about this!" She begged, and I saw Tom and Ben embracing in the woods beyond the window.

"I have."

"For a second!"

"It takes less time to take a life," I reasoned. "It's more than enough time to make a decision."

"Lourdes!" She exclaimed, following me and pulling me up short causing me to slip and whirl around.

"_Please_ just let me go," I said, begging her, and she did reluctantly, releasing my arm as I stalked closer to the Masons. They had looked up with Anne and my intrusion upon their intimate moment.

"She's trying to leave!" Anne announced to Tom like when a mother informed her husband when he came home from work and was now expected to reprimand a child for their wrongdoing much earlier in the day. I wasn't Anne's child though or even Tom's. I wasn't even a child.

Not bothering to face Tom, I turned to Ben who eyed me with confusion, "You're leaving?"

"Yeah," He nodded.

"Can I come with you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Can I come with you? I don't care where you're going or what you're up to. I won't even get in your way. Can I?"

Ben looked to Tom for permission, and Tom only stood mutely, trying to come up with the most polite way to tell me to listen to Anne and suggest I go back to the med bus where I belong.

"I'm not asking your dad," I informed Ben, and his jaw dropped open. "I'm asking you."

"Lourdes, I don't think…"

"A no would suffice," I said haughtily, stepping back out of disappointment and releasing the breath I had not even realized I held.

What had I been expecting? I was going to throw a fit and run off with a fifteen-year-old who could break me in half if he was under the right or rather the wrong influence. One Overlord too close to him and I was dead. Dejectedly, the idea seemed somewhat agreeable.

"I'm sorry," Ben said, and I truly looked at him for the first time.

He had grown so much in the few short months I had known him. His baby face was just a shadow of what was the face of a young man, and I tried to remember his longer, curlier locks from when he was first de-harnessed. He had been so sweet at first, but the spikes on his back never left. Slowly but surely he changed. He had become calloused over time, opening his eyes to what the 2nd Mass turned a blind eye to.

"Me too, I thought you'd be different," I whispered, standing firmly as I looked at him. I could practically hear Tom and Anne's sighs of relief that Ben had turned me down, and I felt my heart sink even lower than it had been.

"Why do you even want to come?" Ben asked, shaking his head.

"The same reason you want to leave."

Ben swallowed hard, looking at his feet and the ground instead of his father before exhaling loudly, "I guess you can come, but you have to understand this isn't for a week or something. It could be a long time before we come back or…"

It hurt to see his sad glance to Tom, and I truly felt awful for making this moment even tenser, "I understand."

"You sure?"

I kept myself from meeting Anne's eyes, but I could hear her crying as I nodded, "I'm positive. I want to go."


	2. Scratching the Surface

Disclaimer: I still don't own "Falling Skies."

Two: Scratching the Surface

We were alone—Ben and I, walking at an even pace through the woods, but we could still hear the light singing of the 2nd Mass drift upon the cold breeze. They must have just finished digging the holes for the dead and were now burying them. There would be Kenneth "Boon" Hyland and Heath Olsen, two fighters lost during the siege, and another fighter and two civilians that died from injury. Mr. Robertson was about sixty and had been found that very morning slumped over on the school bus where he slept—heart attack in his sleep.

"Sorry," Ben mumbled suddenly.

"For wha—_oh_…" I began and sighed as his single word made sense, understanding perfectly well what it was meant for and laughing harshly. "Thanks, but no thanks. I don't want your condolences."

"I—um, just hadn't given them," I could hear the swish of saliva roll around his mouth. Ben was nervous, clenching the straps of his backpack awkwardly.

"Well, I don't want them."

The last few days had been a domino effect of mumbled apologies and awkward hugs since we first emerged into the hallway without Jamil and Weaver had told me how sorry he was. "He's in a better place." "God rest Jamil's soul." "I know how hard this must be." The more I heard the condolences, the more I wanted to kick something or someone. I'm not sure any of them had truly meant their words anyways. Death was just an ordinary occurrence nowadays, mattering only to those who cared for the person.

"Well, sorry for caring," He grumbled, stalking passed me. I exhaled and took longer steps to catch up.

"You don't have to pretend to care," I rolled my eyes. "I'd rather you not in fact."

"Geez, I was just trying to be…"

"Polite?" I didn't want politeness. It only made me irritable.

"Never mind..." He grew quiet, and I knew he wasn't going to finish so I didn't push. I didn't want to talk anyways.

Eventually, the singing faded away, and we were truly alone, tromping through the fallen snow sullenly. There was no turning back, and I felt relief flood me. That part of my life was gone now. It was simply behind me, and I couldn't run back to it even if I dared as the snow began to fall again and cover our tracks. It was official. I was no longer the ever-helpful Lourdes, being bade and tasked to do ten things at one time because everyone expected it of me.

A year ago when it all began, I had been helpful out of kindness, but slowly and surely, I realized I had doomed myself. If I hadn't been helping Anne, I was helping to cook, pack, run after children, wash clothing, do this, do that, and still be expected to sit up with the wounded each night, keeping a watch over them. How many times had I found myself caring for a sick child while helping serve food and then being sent to wash dishes without ever eating? How many nights had I sat vigilantly over the wounded, waiting for them to die and holding their hands as they did?

All of that was gone, and I bade it good riddance. The 2nd Mass could find another med assistant—kitchen helper, cook, dish washer, packer, clothes washer, babysitter, teacher, gun cleaner, and errand runner. They might have to find a few people I mused, but that was their problem. I was done.

"We're-going-back-to-Richmond," Ben's words whizzed out of his mouth so suddenly and quickly that I had nearly missed them. How long had he been mulling them over as we walked before building up his courage to say them?

"Richmond?"

In all honesty, I hadn't thought about where we were going. I had recognized the houses and roads that we passed the last few hours. We had seen them all from the med bus in route. I hadn't really cared if we were going backwards though. I hadn't really cared where we were going at all.

"Actually it's near Richmond," He shrugged, looking at me.

"That's nice," I remarked blandly. Ben smiled slightly and chuckled. "What is it?"

"Nothing,"

"No seriously?" I growled as he paid me no mind as he kept walking.

"You really don't care where we're going?" He stopped and faced me. Was it a trick question?

"No, you're the one with the plan. I'm just grateful you let me come," I said before muttering to where he could barely hear me. "_Most people wouldn't have_."

He must have heard me well enough as he reasoned, "Most people wouldn't have asked."

"Thanks," I said, feeling ridiculous and pathetic for being the tag along.

"Yeah, well…you're not really mad that we're backtracking? I thought for sure you would be," He laughed good-naturedly.

"No, why would you think I would be?" I narrowed my eyes, and Ben looked panic-stricken that he had said the wrong thing. Maybe, he had.

"Um…"

"Just spit it out Ben!" I sighed in frustration.

"You just seem…not yourself today…" The hesitation chopped his words apart.

This couldn't be like being in the 2nd Mass, being polite to save face when really everyone wanted to scream their frustrations at the top of their lungs. If we were going to make whatever this companionship was work, then Ben was going to have to learn to speak. I couldn't bear to listen to pleasantries and talk about the weather anymore, skirting around reality until Mechs were on our very doorstep.

"Usually you aren't angry or yelling," He explained, biting his lip.

"So I have to be pleasant and happy all the time?" I spat.

"No! I just meant you're acting different lately."

"_Different_?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Well, it seems to matter to you."

"It doesn't…I swear. I'm glad you came," He said as if he was trying to erase pen marks. The spoken word couldn't be erased no matter how hard he tried.

"_Clearly_"

"Can we just call a truce? 'Cause this is going to suck if we don't get along." I could practically see the plea in his eyes.

"Fine," I agreed reluctantly.

"Great," He forced a smile. He shuffled his feet and tucked his hands further into his pockets. He still had something to say, and his nervousness was beginning to get annoying.

"What is it?"

"What?" He furrowed his brow in confusion.

"What else do you have to say?"

"Oh, _that_…I was just wondering if you were really going to help me because I'm not sure this will work otherwise."

It was a good question. Was I going to help? I hadn't thought that far along as I got my bag and gun before throwing off Anne and asking to tag along. In fact, I hadn't thought any farther ahead in my thinking than the first step: leaving. However, Ben had thought it through as he had set forth into the woods with determination and a plan to execute. He had the skitter rebellion to worry about, and I applauded him for doing something while everyone else was content with dreaming about Charleston.

All that glittered wasn't gold, and something about Charleston made my stomach clench uneasily. Three thousand people gathered together without being obliterated seemed farfetched to me, and the fact that the messenger had happened to glide around in a plane without being shot down seemed off as well. Maybe, I was too pessimistic lately and saw everything in a negative light, but I didn't care. Ben's bailing out just before the final leg to Charleston only assured me that I had made a good decision despite its spontaneity.

Though, the idea of allying with skitters seemed insane as well, at least, Ben was being proactive, responding to what others ignored.

"I suppose," I replied. "What're we doing?"

"Finding kids"

"Harnessed kids?"

"Nah, ones like me—de-harnessed kids."

"So we're building up a de-harnessed kid army?"

"Something like that"

"Well, what's near Richmond? A base or something?"

"No, there's de-harnessed kids there…I could _feel_ it one day on patrol. There were several, so it was kind of hard to miss."

He didn't meet my eyes just like he always did when someone would call him a razorback. He expected me to shirk back in fear at the mention of his feeling like the people who called him a razorback would. Ben was dangerous. He was a spy. Ben was an assassin. Ben was evil. There had always seemed to be another whisper uttered by someone with their nose upturned every day.

I had seen his spikes though, witnessed his superhuman agility, and tracked the development of his extrasensory whenever Anne or Tom had been able to coax him onto the med bus for an exam. I may have been over-exploited, but Ben had been kicked down from the beginning. He should have left sooner, but I understood his three reasons for staying and waiting it out as long as he could—Tom, Hal, and Matt. Had he been able to pick apart their voices in the chorus of singing like I had with Anne's?

"How many are there?" I asked, noticing his body visibly relax that I had not been taken aback by the mention of his unusual feeling.

"Several, I think. Dai and I passed within a klick of them when we were checking out the perimeter."

"Is that how Rick and the skitter found you? Was it through the _connection_?" The word felt odd in my mouth.

"Kind of…Rick sought me out. After the rebellion meeting failed, I was helping Red Eye when he was wounded, and he tasked me to recruit the group of de-harnessed kids that I could feel. He said they would be useful."

"And you told him you would," I finished.

"No," Ben looked straight at me. "I told him I would try to get the 2nd Mass to listen, but that I wasn't going to leave unless they were on board."

"They didn't agree with the skitter rebellion though, and you still left."

His face was filled with hatred as he spoke, "Yeah, well Karen changed things."

"Karen changed a lot of things," I agreed, picturing Jamil's face in my mind again. If Karen had never entered the picture, neither of us would be here I knew. I vowed to kill her if I should ever find her.

"I'm not like her," Ben said resolutely, staring at me.

"I never said you were."


	3. Finders Keepers

Disclaimer: One sec…let me check…nope, I don't own "Falling Skies."

Three: Finders Keepers

"Which one?" Ben asked, and I stared at him as if he had lost his mind. He crooked his head expectantly.

"Which one of what?" I mumbled, rubbing my eyes and sitting up.

The dusty sofa underneath me groaned in more discomfort than I was in from spending the night curled up on the couch. It had been a cold night as the falling snow from the previous day had only continued to blanket the area, causing us to settle in for the night well before dark. The house nestled up a long drive in the countryside was a nice escape from reality. With a switch of electricity to brighten the dark rooms, it would appear that the house had never witnessed the invasion and its aftermath at all.

However, the house had been tainted by the world now, and Ben and I were proof of that. Our boots scuffed the wooden floors, and our tired bodies disturbed the dust on the sofas as we collapsed onto them for rest after an unsatisfying dinner of squirrel. I groaned as I tried to reconcile Ben decked out in his gear from his assault rifle to the utility knife strapped to his thigh with the mahogany china cabinet behind him that displayed an entire matching set of dishes with yellow, hand painted tulips scalloping the edges.

"The bikes?" He said, and I realized he expected me to understand. I wanted nothing more to kick him for being so vague in the early morning. It wasn't even light outside with the living room illuminated only by the fading fireplace in the hearth.

"What are you talking about Ben?" I said in exasperation.

"The bikes," He smiled then, going to the door and motioning me to follow.

Skeptically, I wrapped my arms around myself as I followed him. Ben threw open the front door and beamed proudly, bounding down the steps as the door clicked shut. It was dark other than the blue haze of moonlight illuminating the snow, and there in the midst of the snow at the bottom of the porch steps were two bikes. I looked between the bikes sitting diligently before me and Ben's expression.

"How…" I frowned as I stared at the bikes from my spot next to him.

"You were still asleep, so I started poking around in the house…oh there's a whole store of canned goods and food in the kitchen and pantry. You wouldn't believe…anyways, the bikes I found when I went out to the shed. I thought the place might have a good hunting gun or maybe an old truck we could get running, but well…" Ben grinned as he hopped in front of the bikes theatrically as he presented them with a wave of his hands.

"You found bikes?" I snorted and rolled my eyes.

I supposed this was good in his teenage boy thinking, but all I could think of was the nonsensical injuries that had converged on the clinic and then the med bus over the year. Fighters would appear bloody and bruised, appearing as if they had just hobbled back from a skirmish with skitters only to learn that they had slipped from their bike while scavenging or been tripped up when horsing around.

"Um, yeah they run…" He said with his entire face falling. I bit my lip and nodded. "You don't like them?"

"How are we even supposed to ride them in the snow!" I reasoned.

"It's just snow no ice!" He protested. "How else do you expect us to get anywhere?"

"I…" His voice cut across mine without hesitation.

"You want to walk around until we find what…a running truck or something with chains to boot!" He shouted, and I closed my open mouth, nearly seething with fury.

I hadn't done anything to provoke him to yell at me other than raise my voice a bit. I was just being logical instead of an irrational, testosterone-fuelled boy. Grant it, I didn't know how to ride a bike, but I wasn't stupid enough to try riding one in the snow. I might as well lie out in the road until a passing Mech squashed me. The thought no sooner crossed my mind when Ben started laughing maniacally.

"Geez you're easy!" He roared with laughter.

"Excuse me?" I shouted in outrage.

"No, no, no, no, no!" His green eyes widened with sudden alert. "I meant you're gullible. You're gullible Lourdes! It was a joke! I swear I was just messing with you…except the food part," He amended. "That was real."

"A joke? You call trying to trick me into riding a motorcycle in the snow fun?"

"No," He shrugged. "I'd call it funny…I wouldn't have let you do it. Besides, they don't even run."

"You lied to me," I accused.

"For fun," He smiled again, and I was annoyed with myself that I kept noticing how different each one of his smiles was.

Ben had smiled more in the last ten minutes than in the many months I had known him. It was as if his leaving and separation from the 2nd Mass had liberated him, and I understood the feeling. I realized that for the first time in a long time, I had slept through the night, and there was nothing I was obliged to do when I had awoken. I could turn around and return to the sofa for more sleep if I wanted, and the idea tempted me. Yet, I had agreed to help Ben, and he looked at me now, smiling apologetically.

"Sorry," He mumbled, leaning against the bikes that were mere props. "I rarely ever sleep, so I just have a lot of time."

I nodded my understanding, trying to be nice and finding it harder to do than it had used to be as I thought of his laughter at my expense, "It's fine."

"I'll make it up to you," He announced, and I raised my eyebrows in disbelief.

"What you really have a truck with chains to boot?" I mocked, and he snickered.

"No, I have a _running_ truck with chains to boot."

"You're joking."

"In the garage…" He informed me, and hesitantly, I followed him across the snowy yard to the large shed that doubled as a garage. Everything was in dark shadows, yet I knew these items, causing excitement to pulse through my body.

"It's amazing!" I breathed in awe.

The shed was deceiving, being able to fit the entire two-stories of the country house inside comfortably. More rundown bikes were discarded in the corner surrounded by spare parts. Towers of water bottles lined the wall, and boxes of ammo lined the one opposite it. There was more—gun lockers, cans of fuel, black trash bags overflowing with pharmaceutical drugs. Everywhere I looked there was more. In the middle of the valuable items was an old blue truck with a dented passenger door and chains already fastened on.

It was perfect and priceless—an oasis, and I nearly leapt for joy until I thought of the irony of this happenstance that Ben stumbled upon. The 2nd Mass would kill for a lot this assorted and generous, having spent months and months scavenging and building up supplies. Sure, there had been many great stock piles found in hunting good stores, abandoned food warehouses, and hospitals, but with each small fortune, there was great loss of in some way.

There wasn't a price to this stockpile, and I bit my lip as I tried to contain my smile. I was happy, and Ben was too as he walked around, pointing out everything like a salesman with a pitch. He kept flailing his arms and introducing each item theatrically like he had with the bikes, and I sighed in resignation, knowing that I would have to credit him for this find even if it was by coincidence.

"…and this is our newest line of fishing gear—rods, reels, bait…anything you could possible need we have!" Ben exclaimed before his expression grew somber. "So…you forgive me yet?"

I rolled my eyes and smiled, pretending that he didn't smile wildly simply because I did, "Only if you show me this grand food supply you raved about."

"Fair enough," Ben nodded, and I went to head back to the house, hesitating at the door when Ben didn't follow. "What is it?"

He stood looking at something fixed out the window with his serious expression and looking every bit the adult as he asked, "Lourdes did you leave the front door to the house open?"

"No, why?" I began, but he placed a finger to his mouth.

I paused with my hand on the door handle of the shed, watching as Ben gripped his rifle, gesturing for me to lie low. I followed his order and went to crouch down under the window beside him, peeking out to see the door open wide and the curtain flutter from movement in the house. We shared a look as we ducked into crouching positions.

I looked around at the stockpile and thought of how stupid we were, seeing Ben's similar expression. It was a bitter realization, and I hated to learn that lesson. Had I truly expected this stock pile to land in our laps without a price? There was no such thing as small favors especially in this new world.

The shed door was kicked open, and Ben and I darted for cover behind the shelves. I could hear a single pair of boots and a gun was cocked. I reached for my gun but mentally berated myself upon realizing it was still sitting uselessly in the house on the coffee table next to my and Ben's bags.

My stomach churned when I remembered the reason we had camped out in the house anyways. I had griped about my fingers being cold, and Ben had set us up in the house less than thirty minutes later. This was my fault, and now, Ben's plans were in jeopardy. His life was in jeopardy because of me.

"I know you're in here! Rotten thieves!" A gruff voice bellowed.

The footsteps veered left around the truck, and Ben and I slid further around the shelf for cover.

"Show your faces now, and maybe I'll have lenience!" The man shouted.

There was only one door out I realized, and the man was closer than us. There were the windows, but by the time we even attempted to open them and scramble out, the man would have caught us or shot us. Ben must have been thinking along the same lines as he looked back and handed one of his pistols to me. I gripped it, trying to remember exactly how to use it like I had been instructed.

"You have three seconds…One!"

"Stay down," Ben whispered.

"Two!"

"I'm coming out! Don't shoot!" Ben yelled before rising with his rifle held away from his body.

He had no sooner stood up when the shot pierced the air, and just when I had barely registered the action, Ben had already ducked and fired back. Whereas the man's shot had missed, Ben's had hit the mark. I heard the body hit the ground with a thud, and following in Ben's wake, we moved slowly from our hiding spot only to find a frightened old man breathing heavily as he lay with his thigh gushing blood.

Ben held his gun aimed at the man unwaveringly, and I stared at the man, waiting to hear the shed door burst open and to be ambushed by whatever group he was a part of. The man brought his hands closer to his chest in surrender.

"Oh it's you!" The man cried happily, as the fear fell from his face, and he stared at Ben with wide eyes. "I've been waiting for you!"


	4. The Long Lost Liars

Disclaimer: I don't own "Falling Skies."

Four: The Long Lost Liars

"The gun," Ben mentioned, and I obeyed, taking the rifle from the old man who laughed good-naturedly and setting it on a nearby crate.

"Why are you pointing that at me boy? Get that gun out of your grandpa's face!" The old man said, attempting to shove the barrel of Ben's gun away from his face as he sat up and examined his wound, whistling in response. "Damn good shot though! Of course it should be since I taught you!"

"Um…" Ben responded as he loosened the slack on his gun considerably, and I gasped as I realized that Ben had shot his grandfather. It was no wonder he was standing dumbfounded.

Without hesitation, I tucked the pistol Ben gave me into my jacket as I fell beside the old man, pulling off my belt and wrapping it around his leg to slow the bleeding. The wound wasn't too atrocious thankfully. He wouldn't die, and I knew Ben would be relieved just like he had been when Tom had pulled through after Ben shot him by mistake. However, the wound was still pulsing underneath the pressure I applied, and I remembered to concentrate.

It had gone straight through, and I wouldn't have to do any digging around to get the bullet out. The wound needed to be cleaned and dressed properly though, and that couldn't be done in an unclean shed despite all the medical supplies and drugs stockpiled near the back. Ideally, I wished to have the med bus that was already prepared for such a situation, but that was asking too much. A table would do.

"Ben, help me get him in the house!" I poked him out of his bewilderment as he listened to his grandfather.

"House?" The man laughed as Ben did as I bade and lifted the man to his feet. "Well, aren't you a spunky one! Just take me to the hospital sweetheart." I laughed softly at the man's infectious smile as he hobbled on his one good leg between Ben and me all the way to the kitchen.

"Ben, go back out and check the shed for supplies," I ordered as I began looking around the kitchen for aid.

"What?" Ben replied, hovering awkwardly near the door. "Lourdes, I…"

"Ben, the longer this takes, the more chance your grandfather could die!" I exclaimed, turning to the old man. "Do you have towels?"

"Cabinets by the sink sweetie," He smiled politely and gestured to the doorway behind me, and I went in search of hand towels.

I fumbled through the cabinets and drawers, accidentally knocking a tower of prescription bottles over in the process before I stumbled upon the drawer filled with tulip-embossed, white hand towels. I was just about to ask Ben what in the world he was simply standing in the doorway for when his grandfather told him to do as I had told him. Sending me one last look and blatantly reminding me to keep my pistol close, Ben went to the shed.

"He did what I told him," The man smirked. "Don't worry. He's young. You'll have him wrapped around your finger soon enough. He'll realize it's always better to listen to a woman in the end…you're pretty. I didn't know he had a girlfriend."

"What?" I mumbled in confusion as I flew about the kitchen before shoving a stack of cookbooks under the man's leg for elevation. "I'm not…"

"What's your name?"

"I-I'm Lourdes," I stuttered as I opened one of the many jugs of water residing on the countertop.

"Gerald Mabry," The man stuck his hand out, and I smiled in reply as I began to clean up his wound.

"Nice to meet you," I narrowed my eyes at the man.

"Your girlfriend's pretty son," Mr. Mabry informed Ben cheerfully a few minutes later as he reentered the kitchen with the bewildered expression still gracing his face.

"_Yeah_," Ben nodded his agreement and ducked his head when I threw him a look. How dare he lie to his grandfather? I was just about to correct him, but Mr. Mabry had already moved on.

"So where are your parents?" He asked, craning his neck to see Ben who was rifling through the box he brought before he tossed me a box of bandaging wrap.

"Um…"

"Just behind you? They still in town?"

"Yes sir," Ben nodded firmly, and together we bandaged the wound.

"_Stop_ _lying_ _to_ _him_!" I mouthed to Ben as Mr. Mabry pressed his hands to his temples, clearly exhausted from being shot.

"_I'm_ _not_ _lying_!" He mouthed back, and I rolled my eyes.

Ben was something else. He shoots his own grandfather, and then he tells him lies. My grandmother would have popped me for being so disrespectful especially to my seniors. I still remembered a very clear experience when I was seven, and I was sent to bed without dinner one summer when I visited her because I had thrown a fit, whining and then boldly trying to pop her, when she asked me to help set the table.

Later that night I snuck out of my room for a snack only to find my grandmother waiting for me expectantly in the kitchen. The moment I appeared, she handed me her bible and told me to read. I asked from which point and for how long. She told me to start at the beginning and inform her when I had finished it. The first few pages I grumbled about how much I hated her and how unfair it was, but as the night wore on, I grew tired.

I could only do one of the two things I decided. Either I could stay angry at my grandmother or I could just do as she told me. The latter was a better option considering she was sterner than my parents were, and I was going to be staying another two weeks with her. Sighing, I gave in, and I began to pay attention to the words running across the pages. It was odd to find that the more I read the more I wanted to read it.

I pushed the memory to recesses of my mind. That was all in the past—my grandmother, her bible. The present was before me, and that entailed making sure someone else's grandparent lived. Focusing, we taped the bandage and elevated his leg more just as Mr. Mabry made another joke about me being better than a doctor as he fell asleep. I smiled in appreciation as Ben and I exited to the living room.

Ben sat down unceremoniously, and I sat on the couch I had slept upon across from him. Ben propped his feet up, and I stared at him. He looked like he was trying to solve a math equation with his eyebrows furrowed and his teeth gritted. He was probably attempting to work out how to undo the lies he told Mr. Mabry, or maybe, he was feeling guilty over shooting him at all.

"I'm sorry about your grandfather," I broke the awkward silence, and Ben looked at me oddly. "He'll be fine though."

"He isn't my grandfather," Ben sat up, resting his elbows on his knees as he whispered.

"Ben, come on," I shook my head. Was he honestly going to try and lie to me too? "He recognized you, and he called you his grandson…I can't believe you lied about me being your girlfriend though or the fact that your parents are in town."

"I didn't lie," He protested.

"Maybe not outright," I shrugged. "But you went along with it. I get it if you were trying to keep him calm, but you'll have to tell him the truth."

"What truth?" He exclaimed and stood up as he paced.

I bit my lip as I spoke, "About your mother—he wouldn't know."

"He wouldn't care," Ben scoffed and laughed slightly.

"Look Ben, I can't begin to understand your relationship with your grandfather, but I don't think he wouldn't care about your mother's death."

"No, trust me Lourdes. He wouldn't care."

"It's his daughter though. Isn't it?" Mason wasn't exactly Mabry, but Tom could still be his son possibly I supposed.

"No, my mother's maiden name was Wallace," Ben replied, picking up a framed photograph from the mantle and thrusting it at me purposely. "This—this is his daughter…_well_, most likely." He shrugged lamely.

I took the photo without choice, looking at it oddly. Mr. Mabry stood in the back row with his arm around a woman I assumed was his wife. Two grown women who favored them flanked their sides each with a man wrapping an arm around them—husbands most likely. Five kids with blonde hair filled in the front. The eldest boy stood squished behind the younger grandchildren, practically blotting out his grandfather altogether.

Looking between Ben and the boy, I understood. They were not the same person, not even identical cousins in the least, but there was a superficial favoritism between them. They shared darker blonde hair that was cut similarly, and their jaws were clenched the same. Ben smirked triumphantly as he plopped down on the couch without a care in the world.

"Not me is it?" He grinned.

"No," I shook my head and set the picture back amongst the sea of framed photos filled with the same people—candid moments including school photos, family Christmases, birthday parties, and bunny ears galore that were scattered across the mantle and adorning the walls.

"Exactly, so who's the man you just stitched up?" Ben laughed, and I sighed as I purposely kicked his feet off the coffee table and sat there, merely to irk him off. It worked.

"That's Gerald Mabry," I mumbled.

"Oh yeah, Grandpa Gerald," Ben smirked at me and fiddled with one of the couch pillows. "I usually just call him Gramps though."

I took the pillow from him and swatted him with it, "It's not like you said anything Ben! You just stood there frozen, which isn't exactly helpful."

"Cause I was trying to understand what was going on. One minute I shoot the man, and the next, you're stitching him up!"

"Well, what would you have done?" I defended, throwing my hands up in the air. "Let him die?"

Ben's expression sobered, and he chunked the pillow to the other end of the couch, "No…I'll tell him the truth when he wakes up just keep the guns away from him so that he doesn't shoot me."

"That isn't funny, and you can't do that."

"Why not? That's what you just wanted me to do!"

"Yeah, when I thought you were his grandson…but if you don't know him, then he's mentally unstable."

"Why?"

"I don't know…wishful thinking, Alzheimer's, dementia, shock from the invasion—it could be lots of things, but we don't need to upset him. He could be violent for all we know."

"We know _that_. He aimed a gun at us."

"Cause we were on his land," I reasoned. "Besides, we had guns, and you're the one that shot him."

"So now what?"

"We stay until he can take care of himself."

"That's a setback. We don't have time for this Lourdes," He groaned, and I curled up into the sofa as he thought. "You know what we need to do?"

"I can't wait to hear," I said haughtily.

"Use this to our advantage," Ben began to fiddle with the pillow again, tossing it in the air to my annoyance. "I pretend to be his grandson. You pretend to be Lourdes—the _girlfriend_…" He sniggered, and I snatched the pillow from his hands again. "…and we pack up the truck in the meantime. The moment he learns to hobble we head for the hills."

I didn't reply, simply staring at him mutely. Was he joking? We were already intruding on Mr. Mabry's land. Ben had shot him, and now we were going to siphon out supplies from his stockpile while lying to him about being his family. I wanted to vomit. This was ridiculous. It was wrong. Ben knew it too by the way he ducked his head.

Though Ben was mostly quiet in all the months I had known him and surly the few times he did speak, he was by not bad by any standard. He was angry like I was—tired of this life that was thrust upon us, and I wondered where he would be now. He should be in high school, drooling over cheerleaders and getting excited about all the mathlete competitions and video games Hal teased him over when the brothers were on amicable terms. Instead, Ben was sitting quietly on the sofa of the man he just shot who thought he was his grandson.

"You haven't said anything," He remarked.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Yea, nay—anything," He mumbled. Did he really want my opinion?

"Why don't you just leave and come back for me?" I suggested though I crossed my fingers that he wouldn't. I didn't want to be left behind.

"I can't do that."

"Why not?" He paid me no mind, but I caught the flitter of his gaze to my gun that I had carelessly left on the coffee table before going outside earlier. "Because you think I would end up dead without you?"

"You said it not me."

"We'll go with your plan," I sighed, choosing to ignore his comment. "On one condition."

"Name it."

"We ask to borrow everything."

"Fine…you do it."

"He's your grandfather," I smirked.

"Yeah but he already likes you better," Ben grinned widely at me.

"Because you shot him."

"Next time I'll aim better," He mumbled.

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much to everyone for all the reviews and follows for "A Time to Build Up." They're greatly appreciated. I am hoping to get another chapter posted by the end of the weekend for you guys. – Always, GG


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